Another Eternity
by AwkwardedOut
Summary: Byakuran had always felt that a part of him was missing, but despite all the power and wealth he accumulated or the death and destruction he unleashed, he had not found that defining piece. Then again, he had always wanted the things he couldn't have...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Chapter 1: **

Eternity.

It was an infinite existence that spanned through time and across worlds. When someone knew eternity, he was not born, he simply was; he did not live, he only existed; nor did he experience the joys and sorrows that came with life, but merely watched them pass by.

The planes of existence were many—so many, in fact, that no one knew their exact number. One may speculate or conjecture, but that's all it really was—guesswork. Nothing could be proven in the end.

On one of the higher planes existed a group of beings charged with the duty of observing the cosmic order. Their realm was a concept, an immaterial place that was molded by the wills of its inhabitants. If so desired, it could simultaneously be a land graced by the beauty of nature or a terrain ravaged by war; but in its essence, it was none of these, for it was free of the confines of a permanent form. The entities lived peacefully in their realm while keeping the balance of the multiple planes below them in check; they watched and they guided, but it was not their place to interfere directly.

Most were content to spend eternity carrying out their duties, but not all felt this way. There was one among them who wasn't satisfied with such a mundane existence, what he perceived as an inconceivably dull eternity.

One day, while performing a routine inspection of a lower plane inhabited by beings known as humans, he became enraptured by their world.

* * *

><p>Byakuran wrapped a finger in the white hair that framed his face, tapping a bare foot impatiently; he was growing progressively more agitated the more he saw of the human world.<p>

The domain below held so much promise, so much _fun_ to be had, but none of its occupants knew how to grasp that potential and make it great. Century after century, he watched the ants that covered the earth live their lives. Some well, others foolishly; some fully, and others briefly, but they _lived_—that was the most important part. For the first couple thousand years, the humans had provided entertainment for him in an otherwise uneventful existence. The battles they fought—from small skirmishes over territory to large-scale wars that desolated the land—engrossed him like his duties never could.

His favorite quality of the lower beings was their inventiveness. From their minds spawned countless machines of destruction—from explosives and guns to creative methods of torture such as the bronze bull, the Judas chair, or the rack. He couldn't help but admire their innovation—those had been good times. Recently, however, life on their world had gotten progressively and unbearably monotonous.

Where was the blood, the destruction that he so craved? He hadn't witnessed a good battle in years; there was neither anything being blown up nor massacres taking place—not on a scale worthy of his notice, at any rate. How did these humans get by for so long with so little excitement in their lives? Here he was, an eternal creature, and _he_ was going stir-crazy while the mortals lived their insignificant lives with ease and contentment.

For the longest time now—or perhaps not so long, for time is only an expression when applied to eternity—he had been plagued by a dull ache that permeated his very being. It had been slight at first, barely perceptible, but as the centuries crawled by and the humans grew more _civilized_, the ache grew as well. He had come to realize that it was, quite literally, a physical manifestation of his boredom.

Byakuran didn't think he could take any more of this. It wasn't enough for him to simply observe anymore. Now, more than anything, he wanted to _participate_. It was a brilliant idea that had struck him one day, to join the humans in their world. And ever since, he had spent all his time pondering it, imagining all the wonderful possibilities such an act could bring about. But he had yet to act on it because it had never been done.

The others—they didn't care about the humans or any of the other creatures they oversaw, only that the balance was kept. But he wasn't like them—he felt that deep within his bones, and it wasn't merely the persistent ache or his unusual obsession. There was simply something that set him apart from his companions. The more he saw the others meandering around, carrying out the same repetitive tasks time and time again with no variation or excitement, the more he was convinced that he didn't belong here. His place was down below—he was certain of it.

Byakuran stood up, calling the attention of his brethren. When all eyes rested on him, he grinned at them, raised his arms dramatically and renounced his duties.

It was an unheard of act, and that was reflected in the clear shock and bemusement on the others' faces.

Satisfied that his declaration had made an appropriate impression, he bid them all farewell, for he was going to go down to the mortal plane and have a little fun, wreak a little havoc, maybe start a war or two—whichever sounded the most fun; although he felt certain that he would get to do it all, eventually.

The others gave him disapproving looks at this revelation, and told him that his actions were demeaning to their position. As higher beings, they did not meddle in the affairs of the lower planes. The sheer amount of time he spent observing the mortals was bad enough; joining them was downright absurd.

Byakuran merely laughed at his companions as he left, knowing full well they wouldn't try to stop him. Their no interference policy was so ingrained into their systems that they couldn't be proactive even if it meant allowing him to leave.

Indeed, no one attempted to prevent his departure, and he let out a triumphant laugh as his theory was proven correct.

Once he was alone, the landscape around him switched from a calm river that wound through a grassy forest, to a stretch of ground soaked dark with blood. A blink of his eyes later and it was littered with rotting corpses. He was toying with the visual aspect of the plane in an attempt to calm the anticipation bubbling inside him like a spring—a spurt of water suddenly punctured the ground beside him, welling into a puddle, and gradually enlarging into a pool.

He peered down at the world below, the one that had captivated him so completely. He watched the events unfold, watched the people scurry about, and watched as their time ran out.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. If the mortal existence—short as it was—had taught him anything, it was that there was no time like the present.

As with everything on their plane, his placement in it was a matter of intention. He willed himself immaterial, wished himself elsewhere, _there_.

The ground dropped out from under his feet and he plummeted downward. He fell through the multiple planes of existence, one after the other until he finally breached the one he wanted: the human world.

His first sensation in this new world was the wind whipping past him as he fell, clawing at his skin and ripping through his hair with icy talons, the coldness of the air invigorating him. Changing position in midair, he angled himself so that he descended head-first toward the vast land below, his arms at his sides for a streamlined form.

With a feeling of glee, he decided that his entrance needed to be memorable. After all, it wasn't every day that a being of his stature graced the lesser creatures with his presence. He recalled from his observations that the human race both revered fire for its ability and usefulness as well as feared it for its devastating effects when uncontrolled. He was rather fond of it himself, and could understand why people were so captivated by the entrancing colors that danced with a life of their own.

Fire drew people's attention, and the thought of drawing all eyes to him with the substance appealed to him. To that effect, he tried summoning flames around him, but was annoyed to discover that little more than tendrils appeared before they were quickly whipped away by the wind.

There was a brief flicker of doubt that led him to wonder if his ability was ineffective outside his realm.

Persisting, he poured a larger quantity of his energy into the act. He was pleased to see that he still retained the ability to manifest his will, as the conjured flames wrapped around his entire being.

There was no hot or cold up there, and the warmth of the flames as they spread across his skin was a new experience; he enjoyed the way the heat provided a contrast to the chill from the wind, the two elements combining in a twisting synergy as he descended to earth in a glorious streak of orange fire.

Briefly, he toyed with the idea of siphoning off some of the flames around his body to rain fire upon the earth. But if he did that, there might not be anyone left to worship him… Perhaps he could rain just a _little_ fire, kill just a few people—enough to get the point across, but still have plenty left to revere him.

Before he could fully consider the pros and cons of this plan, he spotted the outlines of structures below. The excitement of finally joining the world he had watched for millennia drove all thoughts of fire and death from his mind. Clapping his hands giddily, he watched as the dots in the distance became more distinct with each passing second.

He could see the tiny figures scatter and seek refuge in their poorly constructed buildings, although a few remained outside with their necks craned to follow his flame-enshrouded body through the sky. A bit irritated that his audience had fled, he decided to let loose a few balls of fire at the earth after all.

Just a few shots toward a couple of buildings, quickly setting them aflame, were enough to encourage the inhabitants to leave their homes and run into the nearby fields. Once there, they promptly fixed their attention upon him. With a crash that shook the earth and rendered a crater larger than two buildings combined, he had arrived at last.

Within the depression, he wondered if he should emerge from the smoke and dust to the villagers' reverence, or wait for the fumes to clear before making his appearance. He needed to inspire just the right amount of awe—it had all been planned from his entrance to the size of the crater at his feet, so the emergence should be no different.

His impatience finally getting the better of him, he quelled the flames and climbed the side of the depression to his awestruck audience.

* * *

><p>As the tall figure emerged from within the smoky screen without so much as a scratch upon his lean body, a collective gasp escaped from the crowd. Gazing upon him, the townspeople were simultaneously inspired with awe and fear. This creature before them had been bestowed with an ethereal beauty; but this beauty, complete with a detached coldness in his unnaturally colored eyes and the obvious power emanating from him would have caused even the bravest unease. However, what struck them the most were the expansive wings of snowy white feathers that fanned out behind him.<p>

The people lowered themselves onto bent knees and bowed deeply to this man who was clearly not of their world.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Chapter 2:**

"Angel_,_" the commoners whispered repeatedly, as if in prayer. The mortals who had gathered—and with only a little external encouragement—were all prostrate before him, old and young alike muttering words of reverence.

Byakuran smiled, pleased by the greeting. Already, his time on earth was off to a good start.

"Angel, your arrival here must surely be a blessing from above," an old man said, raising his head from the ground.

"Yes, I am indeed a blessing." A smile played on Byakuran's lips as he dropped his chin into the palm of his hand. Tapping his cheek delicately, he considered the assembled group before him.

There were about fifty of them, a mixture of men and women, with several children who probably didn't even reach his knees. The people were dressed mostly in dark colors that blended in with the ground beneath them, with little or no color variation to their wardrobe. Their skin was a similar shade, toned by long hours in the fields, laboring under the potent rays of the sun.

Standing in their midst, Byakuran's own pale complexion shrouded in still whiter colors made a stark contrast.

"I'll need you to do a few things for me," he said to the townspeople.

No one spoke; even the whispers had quieted. It wasn't the elated reaction he had expected.

"Well?" he demanded testily.

The same person from earlier spoke again, his weathered face grave, "Your wish is our command." The finality in his tone sent a shiver through the others, but this reaction was lost on Byakuran.

"That's what I like to hear." Byakuran then proceeded to list his demands, and watched as the villagers rushed to complete their tasks, the children grudgingly following their parents back to the town.

Noticing how the people's feet trampled the earth as they scrambled away, brown specks flying up in their wake, Byakuran turned his attention to the dark substance. Digging his own feet into the dirt experimentally, he marveled at how the cool earthen clumps broke apart between his wriggling toes. He decided it was an interesting feeling.

From the ground at his feet, his eyes followed the earthen trail further out. Beyond the crater lay flat land, where the wind's presence was evident in the swaying stalks that covered the ground. Byakuran had only just missed flattening the golden grain upon landing, though it had been mere chance that he chose the dark square of earth on the outskirts of the town rather than the bright patches further out.

Past the field of gold were splashes of green that canopied the land below, small forests that covered the distant hills. Even from this distance, he was able to see the speckle of colors that lay hidden amongst the green—an array of red, orange, and yellow.

From there, his gaze turned skyward. An expanse of blue greeted him, extending as far as the eye could see in all directions; and in one corner sat the sun, a glowing orb watching over them all.

_So this is what the sky looks like_, he thought.

Looking upon the earth from above, this was the one piece of the world he had never been able to view. As he drank in the sight, he also noticed the great white clouds floating lazily across the empty space, but the pure white entities were above him now, not below, and they looked so much less confining from this new perspective. In fact, everything was fresh and new when perceived from down here—the colors vibrant, the smells complex, the sounds indistinct, the sensations unfamiliar.

The sound of low murmurs signaled the people's return, drawing his attention away from the realm above. The townspeople were making their way back across the field, a merry line of buildings burning brightly in the background. One by one, they walked up to the rim of the crater and placed their items on the ground before retreating to a safe distance. One man set a chair beside Byakuran, and then threw a coarse cloth across the wood to give it the guise of comfort; a woman placed a plate of bread on the ground; and so on until everyone had gathered once more.

Pleased with the offerings, Byakuran sat down on the chair, where it allowed him to rest while still maintaining a higher vantage point than the kneeling villagers. He was a higher being, and as such, could not lower himself to being on the same level as mere humans. However, the many imperfections of the crudely constructed chair were protruding through the cloth and prodding his back and legs; it was not what he would call comfortable. He experimented with different positions—crossing his legs and uncrossing them again; leaning to first one side, then the other. When nothing seemed to alleviate the feeling, he focused on a different matter instead.

First and foremost, he had decided, he needed a name for his new existence on earth, because now that he was here, he intended to stay and fully enjoy himself. And so he began tossing around possible terms of address.

Supreme Ruler? All-Powerful One? Great and Magnificent Leader? Most Awesome Being Alive?

They were all good titles, to be sure, but none of them really fit the new life he wished to lead. These were the names of superior, almighty entities—which he most definitely was—but he wanted to immerse himself in the mortal world, and for that he needed a mortal title.

The villagers had addressed him as _Angel _since his arrival, but this carried the same connotations as the other discarded titles. Yes, he was amazing; yes, his wings were awe-inspiring; really, though, he just wanted to leave his former, drab life behind. Therefore, what he needed was a title that mortals claimed, while still befitting one of his station.

He sifted through several more possibilities, but ended up eliminating them all.

The townspeople watched him from beneath hooded eyes, the adults too afraid to make eye contact, but too curious to look away entirely; the children, however, stared openly at what they considered to be a spectacle. Several minutes passed in which Byakuran moved not a muscle, light-colored eyes unblinking from the intensity of his concentration. The people who watched him felt unnerved by the unnatural stillness, but dared not interrupt. Then, without warning, the figure gave a loud exclamation of joy that startled his audience.

Leaning forward eagerly, he announced, "From this moment forth, you shall address me as your king."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

**Chapter 3:**

The town elder, the first to address Byakuran when he descended to earth, shuffled into the town hall, the one-story building the angel had taken for his own residence. The old man approached the lounging figure on the bed set in the room's center.

Being part of a simple people who just managed to get by, the old man had to suppress a sigh. Looking at the assortment of food spread out on the long table placed directly before the bed, he could only see it as frivolous and wasteful. Here was gathered enough meat and vegetables to feed a family for a month, two if they were properly rationed, and yet by the end of the day, the angel would have consumed it all. The white-haired entity ate everything, and disposed of nothing. The old man supposed they should have counted themselves lucky, since the angel wasn't picky about what was offered to him, and the people didn't have to go out of their way to prepare delicacies for which they had neither the ingredients nor the knowledge to make. In fact, he didn't think that it would even be inaccurate to say that the angel enjoyed everything, particularly if he had never eaten it before—which, unfortunately, also turned out to be everything.

Silently, he waited for the angel to notice him, all the while watching food disappear from the table with incredible speed.

Byakuran picked up a slice of bread from the table. Smearing a berry spread onto it, he bit in, savoring the taste. Shortly after his arrival, he had been delighted to discover the various flavors and textures that characterized food—moist bread, succulent berries, savory meat stripped from the bones of animals, tubers pulled from the ground—he had yet to tire of sampling it all. Among the greens gathered by the townspeople from their gardens or foraged from the forest, there were both bitter plants and sweet ones. The majority of the meat came in only three varieties—dried, smoked, and salted to keep it from spoiling—but no complaint was made, for he _tasted_.

He wondered how he could have been deprived of this experience for so long. How did he live without food and drink?

Of course, in what he considered his previous life, he hadn't needed sustenance—still didn't, as far as he could tell—but all these flavors and textures coming to life inside his mouth assured him that he had made the correct choice in coming to the mortal realm. He felt sorry for those poor saps back above, still scurrying around in perpetual boredom, doomed to never experience any true fun.

Speaking of fun, he needed to find something new to occupy his time. With only the few forms of entertainment available to him in the small town, the novelty of being amongst mortals was beginning to wear off.

He had chosen this time for its simplicity of life, where the rule for survival was still to kill or be killed. The killing that occurred was also more personal, requiring more effort than the weapons developed later in the earth's history—or so he'd thought. But so far, there had been no battles, no bloodbaths to sate his thirst for excitement. It was the only thing about his time here that had turned out to be a disappointment.

He could feel that familiar ache crawling back into his bones and pervading his flesh. He needed something new to keep it at bay.

"Aelgar," Byakuran called out upon seeing the old man in the room.

"My king." An awkward bow was performed before the self-proclaimed ruler.

"I'm bored," he informed the elder.

Panic seized the old man's heart at the words and his weathered face creased with worry. The last time those very words had been uttered had only been two weeks prior. They were _still_ cleaning up the debris from the building that had exploded without explanation, raining fire-blackened mud and timber over the town. Of course, just because they didn't know how it had happened didn't mean they didn't know who had caused it. They were just glad that nobody had been inside at the time.

Desperately, Aelgar wracked his brain for an idea that would please Byakuran.

Before he could formulate a plan to abate the ruler's monotony, the ringing of a bell could be heard from outside, followed by a loud commotion moving closer to their location. A moment later, a young boy burst into the dwelling.

"They're coming," the boy exclaimed.

The elder nodded grimly before turning back to the angel. "I must apologize, my king, but an urgent matter has arisen. Our meeting will have to be postponed."

"What is happening?" Byakuran asked curiously.

"The raiders are coming."

"Raiders?"

"Yes. Several times a year, a certain tribe will come to our village and raid the town for supplies."

"And you fight them off," Byakuran finished, half-rising from his position in excitement.

"No… A few years ago, we offered to provide them with what they needed whenever they came in exchange for leaving our village in peace."

"Oh," Byakuran slouched back down in clear disappointment. "Why don't you simply destroy them?"

"How would we do that?" Aelgar asked in a weary tone. "The people in this village are peaceful. We're farmers at heart, not warriors. The only things these men have killed are chickens and swine."

"I've killed a goat," interjected the messenger. "It was the family goat, and she was old, so—"

"That's enough," Aelgar told the boy. When the child quieted, the elder addressed the seated figure. "We can't afford any trouble with these men. The peace of this village and our livelihoods depend on it."

"Fine." Byakuran leaned back upon the bed. His features were set in a frown and his arms crossed—the very image of a petulant child. "Bring me more food while you're away," he ordered as the two villagers turned to go.

"_More_ food? But you still have—" the child was silenced by a stern glare from the village head and quickly retreated through the door. Aelgar turned his glance to the full table and suppressed a sigh. On the inside, he couldn't help but agree with the boy's unspoken words.

"If you'll excuse me, King Byakuran. I must go meet the tribesmen."

The ruler dismissed him with a flutter of his hand.

* * *

><p>From the moment of Byakuran's arrival on earth, the angel had basked in the townspeople's unwavering adulation. However, as time wore on, and the villagers were forced to wait on him hand and foot, catering to his every whim day and night in addition to their own responsibilities, some began to wonder as to his true purpose.<p>

A group of villagers had gathered in the street for a chat after a long day in the fields. It began as a typical talk about work, the wife and kids, but as was the norm lately, their conversation quickly turned to the angel.

"I thought angels were spirits of good, yet this one has not brought us prosperity. He only sleeps, eats, and plays as if he were a child," one man whispered to his friends.

"I thought he could help solve our problems, not create more of them," the man's wife added.

"Perhaps he is a fallen angel," another suggested.

The other three made sounds of agreement at this conjecture, thinking the angel being cast out of heaven was likely the reason for their own misfortune. The wife was about to say more, but was immediately hushed as her husband made a motion behind her, where their harried leader could be seen walking down the street.

The group greeted their appointed elder politely as he passed them, no doubt coming back from serving the subject of their discussion. Pitying eyes followed his progress, noting—not for the first time—the hunched back and drawn shoulders that had deepened over the past month. None of them envied the man his duties. They were just about to renew their discussion when he suddenly turned back to them.

Aelgar indicated for the sole woman in the group to come closer.

"Yes?" she inquired apprehensively.

"Our king has new orders." The old man then directed her to carry out the demands placed upon him by Byakuran, telling the nearby men to help her if it was needed.

The fear was prominent in their eyes as they hastened to fulfill their tasks. They may have only been humble villagers, but even they knew that it was in their best interests to cater to the being's whims, however absurd they may have seemed.

Watching his friends' panicked strides, Aelgar could only shake his head sadly.

This newcomer, while he maintained a playful and lighthearted demeanor for the majority of the time, could also be quick to anger. Once already, they had discovered the cruelty behind those pale eyes. Seven families had had their homes destroyed, and were now forced to move in with their neighbors until they could construct new houses. The town hall could have easily accommodated the families, since it was designed to fit a large number of people during town meetings; however, the stranger himself seemed oddly keen on staying in their village, and had demanded the largest building for his personal usage. Of course, no one dared to argue. Therefore, most of the displaced townspeople were lodged in the extremely hazardous topmost floors of the timber and mud brick buildings that accounted for their modest town.

Recalling with some urgency that he was needed elsewhere, the old man resumed walking.

As Aelgar reached the village entrance, one of the townspeople hurried up to him. It was a middle-aged man with worry plastered across his face.

"They're too early, Aelgar. They normally wait until the climate grows colder to get supplies for the winter."

"It can't be helped. We must give them what they want if we are to avoid trouble," the elder replied.

"They want _three_ wagons. We don't _have_ three wagons."

He pointed to the side, where only one vehicle stood, filled with covered parcels that likely contained meat, as well as what remained of their grains and cereals. Looking at the load, Aelgar thought, this couldn't be all they had left.

"What are you talking about? We always keep some extra stored away in order to meet their demands."

"You mean we _had_ extra saved away. But the angel eats enough for ten men. Our regular supply wasn't enough to feed him. We had to start using the amount we had stored away. We thought we could replenish our supplies by the time the raiders came, but they're here too early."

Aelgar gave a weary sigh. "Then we will have to explain to them our predicament and give them what we can spare. I'm sure they will be lenient. After all, we have provided them with many years of service." When his fellow villager's worried expression was not eased by these words, the elder asked, "What else troubles you, Eard?"

"I don't wish to speak out of turn," the man identified as Eard began hesitantly. Aelgar indicated for him to continue. "But even if we manage to appease the tribe leader, the angel will eat us out of house and home long before winter is over. I have a wife and two kids. I can't let them starve because all our food was stolen by outsiders."

"I understand your concerns," the old man said. "I will… talk to the angel. See if we cannot reach some sort of compromise. But first, I must handle matters with the tribe."

Aelgar looked down the road and saw movement. What began as specks in the distance quickly increased in size and took the clear forms of horses and their riders. A few minutes later, three men pulled up before them.

"Let me handle this," Aelgar told Eard, before walking over to greet the new arrivals.

The men were heavyset, with long dark hair and full beards that were wild from the ride. They wore animal pelts around broad shoulders and thick waists, and carried long spears with pointed tips in one hand. They didn't dismount from their steeds, instead choosing to speak down to the villager.

"Where are our wagons?" one rider demanded, his head turning in search of the vehicles.

"I would like to request more time to gather the supplies," Aelgar said to the man, who glared down at him.

"More time? You should know that we only provide protection for your village if our demands are met."

"Please, we have had a hard year. Food is scarce everywhere, and we barely have enough to feed ourselves."

"We don't care. You were only allowed to live this long because you said you could provide for our tribe whenever we came." The man leveled the point of his spear at the elder. "If you cease to be useful, then there is no value in keeping you around."

"I—we just need a little more time," Aelgar beseeched desperately, voice faltering at the weapon's proximity.

After a moment of contemplation, the rider spoke, "Fine. We will take what you have now."

He jerked his head in the direction of the wagon. One of the men behind him trotted over and harnessed the lone vehicle to his horse. Once everything was ready to go, the lead rider turned back to Aelgar.

"You have until the harvest to gather the rest. If you fail us a second time…" The spear suddenly shot forward, startling the old man into falling over.

The rider and his companions threw their heads back in raucous laughter. Then, with a pull of the reins and jab of the knees, they turned and rode away, leaving Aelgar lying in a heap on the ground. Eard helped Aelgar off the ground, spitting at the riders' retreating figures.

"What now?" Eard asked.

"Now, we hope we can bring in a big enough harvest to satisfy their needs."


End file.
